Salad days
by ElvishKiwi
Summary: Does eternal youth ever get old? Peter Pan meets the X-men and has to face what it means to never grow up. Finished in three chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even the ideas are mine.

_Peter Pan and X-men crossover? I know it won't even rate in this sites weirdest crossovers, but it's still been a bit of a challenge for me. This is set between X-men two and three, after the school has been invaded and before the return of the Phoenix._

_This was written for the Assembly of Christian Authors forum 'The Phenomenon 09' prompt challenge. All glory goes to Amita4ever, to whom belongs the concept, the ideas and the inspiration._

_This story is for her._

* * *

Peter had always known the world intimately. He had explored every bit of it and watched it for hours, and had grand adventures up and down it. It was his plaything – not quite a toy or a playmate, but something of both. It was always there and always the same, just like him. The world didn't change, and it never would.

Now, the world had grown up.

It was a busy world; all rushing and hurrying and frantic moving. Grown ups moved through it, staring straight ahead just like they had always done, but he didn't see any children anywhere. It was a dull world; all gray and hard without an adventure in sight, and it had no time for him. Peter felt betrayed.

He sank down to the hard sidewalk in a narrow alleyway, and he felt lost. These were not even like the alleyways he had known. The walls were decorated, splashed with bold patterns and pictures in beautiful colours. He ran his fingers over them, following the patterns, but he couldn't make any sense of them.

He didn't understand this world.

But it was not all bad. The city was so full of colour! Even the gutters were full of it: bright, crumpled packaging, all silver and gold like pirate's teeth. It just lay there like rubbish, and people hurried past as if they didn't see it, as if it had no value at all. Bright patterned papers blew around their hurrying boots. Peter was sure he could stand and stare at it all for hours, only he couldn't wait to see what was around the next corner.

Huge lifesize – larger than lifesize, even – portraits were painted right on the walls of buildings. And they seemed so real! He didn't feel safe turning his back on them. They seemed to stare right at him, although he ran his fingers over the length of them and they were flat and empty. It made him shiver, although Peter was never afraid.

"Hey, honey." A grown-up was looking down at him. She was fat and she was smiling and her red coat was pulled tight and tied around her middle. Her hair was like fairy wings – light and fine and strangely coloured. "Are you lost?"

He didn't usually let grown ups so close to him, but he was distracted and in so many people he had hardly noticed anyone, and hadn't thought anyone would notice him. So he said nothing, he just shook his head silently, watching her hair blow around her face. He had never seen anything quite like it.

"Are you sure, honey?" She watched him and he stared back without blinking. Her bright mouth grew tight and she gave a huff and turned away. Her feet made a strange clatter as she moved.

Then he forgot her, because something more interesting had caught his attention. It was human, and it was flying.

* * *

Ororo sat at her window and watched the sunset. She sat there, letting the minutes pass, just watching. She tried not to think, because when she thought she thought about all the things she should be doing, and her peace all disappeared. It had been a long time since she had sat still and enjoyed doing nothing.

When had she stopped? She didn't know. Sometimes she felt so very _responsible_. There was the school and all her children and these days the whole world seemed to depend on her, and her mind didn't seem to be hers anymore.

The sky was dirty tonight. She would have preferred a sweet, clean sunset, just gold gently fading into the corners, leaving the sky to deepen into night. Sweet and peaceful and slow, lulling her to sleep.

She left the sky as it was. The day had been hot and dirty, and it didn't feel like the day was really properly finished if you didn't let the sun set its own way. She had used to love to do it when she was younger, but then she hadn't the time and now it didn't feel right anymore. It was like growing old. People grew and grew, and eventually they wore their lives on their faces. Sometimes you could almost see what sort of a life they had lived, as they grew closer each day to dying.

She could feel herself growing old. She hadn't for years, but right now she just felt as if she had lived a very long time. Maybe she was just tired – tired and drained of everything she had to give, and so angry at the world it surprised her sometimes.

Minutes passed and the sun sunk lower, and Ororo didn't listen to the child calling below (Emily? Was it Emily?) and did not feel guilt and enjoyed the sunset.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I've stolen so many things from so many people in this story that I'd need a ten minute backing track just to cover the credits.

_Dedicated to the wonderful and __most patient Amita._

* * *

Peter never came though a front entrance. He was a child: he liked rules as long as he created them himself. And why fly at all if you just walked in a front gate like everyone else? Where was the fun in that? His own house didn't even _have_ a front door.

This was one of his principles that he had not yet forgotten, so he didn't stay to watch the flying girl (who didn't seem to _like_ flying) walk sedately through the gates with her friends. He zoomed at super-speed around the back, climbed carefully up the back wall and did a series of graceful flips into the bushes on the other side.

The flying girl was apparently gone in the front door, but Peter didn't care because the institute had so many windows that he had almost forgotten about her already. Such amazing windows, too! They were smooth, clear glass and all lit up brightly, and whoever owned them didn't seem to believe in curtains. And on top of it all, half of them were filled with children.

There were so many children he could hardly believe it. He had never come across anyone else who had an army of children, and it delighted him. Imagine the wars they could have! They would hold a competition to decide whose army was better, although there would be no real contest of course. After all, his were the _lost boys_, and half this army seemed to be girls. Keeping two was reasonable, maybe, just so there was a spare if one was busy or asleep or not very good, but the amounts that these people had were crazy.

* * *

Peter Pan had found the flying girl. He hovered near the sill and watched her.

She was a very awkward flyer. She had no flair. She didn't skim the air or cut through it properly, and she couldn't seem to keep her legs still. She seemed to be trying to walk through the air, just moving a couple of inches above the floor. It was clumsy and pitiful to watch, and Peter could stand it no longer.

"You're an awful flyer," he announced loudly.

Half the girls jumped in surprise, and they all turned and stared at him. He had given them a proper fright. Peter gave a crow of delight and rolled through the window onto an empty bed.

The girls all sat and stared.

"I'm not an awful flyer," the flying girl said at last. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"You are," Peter said smugly.

Awful silence descended. The girls glanced at each other.

"It's not her fault," one of them said at last. "It's only because she's afraid of heights. She's a lot better than she was when she came."

"Well. I could teach you so much better! Why, you'd be flying properly in no time. You could do anything!" He illustrated his point by twisting into the air and rolling across the room, and standing upside-down on the ceiling.

"I think you're very rude." The flying girl crossed her arms. "And you're a show-off."

Peter ignored her. "I could teach all of you to fly."

"We can't fly. Only Lucy can."

"I can teach you all. All we need is a fairy, and they're not hard to find, when you know where to look. I know all the _best_ places to look."

They all sat and stared at him, and none of them looked very interested.

"Who are you?" one of the girls demanded.

"I'm Peter Pan."

"Is that your real name?"

"Yes."

The girl looked sceptical, but her friend hushed her. "You know that's rude to ask. He might have forgotten his real name."

"I haven't!" Peter said quickly, but he was slightly doubtful himself and it didn't come out very convincing. And then he began to feel at a disadvantage, and remembered that it was one of his rules never to talk to more than one girl at once, and he also began to remember why. He crossed his arms and hovered over them, and made a last attempt to assert himself.

"You must be very bad mothers, to let your house become so filthy."

"We're not mothers." The flying girl sounded very indignant.

"It wasn't us who messed it, anyway," the smallest one said. "It was soldiers. They came in the middle of the night, and they messed up the whole school trying to find us."

"We were too quick for them, though."

"Yeah, we escaped before they got us." The girls were warming to their story.

"They came with guns and they tried to kill us!"

"Hundreds and hundreds of us were caught."

"But Storm and the Professor saved them."

"Huh." Peter was back in his element. "I wouldn't have been caught. I can save myself. I've killed lots of those soldiers before."

"Actually killed them?"

"On your own?" the smallest one looked sceptical. "But you're just a kid."

"Just a kid? Huh." Peter flattened himself against the ceiling and looked down at them scornfully. "And they're just grown-ups. They're too big and clumsy to scare me. I stab them and chop them and feed them to crocodiles. I've killed boatloads and boatloads of pirates."

And that was when Wolverine arrived.

* * *

Professor Xavier's study was among the least damaged. Several windows were broken and boarded up, the carpet had been tracked with mud and many of his files had been rifled through and a few taken. Compared with much of the school it was barely touched.

Xavier's favourite window had been thoroughly smashed. The glass was cleaned up, but he had moved across the room to rest beside a whole window. Storm sat in her favourite chair, window or no. A standing lamp lit her face, but didn't do much to dispel the gloom.

"Get some rest, Storm. You're burning yourself out."

Storm sighed. "Everyone's exhausted. There's a lot to organise. I'll be fine. Just a day or two and we should be mostly done."

"With the surface difficulties, yes, but I'm afraid it will take considerably longer to clean up the deeper damage. I doubt things will settle down here for several months at least. You need to take as much rest as you can, especially with your sleep broken."

"I just don't know what to do, professor. It's getting to the stage where we almost need to take permanent night shifts in the dormitories. Even some of the older ones have trouble sleeping, and the little ones are constantly waking with nightmares, or just afraid to be left alone… they all need me so much."

"Children are resilient," Xavier said. "In time they will heal."

"But will they ever feel really safe again?" Storm stood up and clenched her fists. "It just makes me so angry. How can we live in a country where this sort of crime is allowed to go on? They're just children!"

There was a knock at the door. Two knocks, firm and quick. Scott stepped inside. "Where's Logan?"

"He's should be taking his art class," Storm answered him. She sunk back into her chair and rested her head on her arms.

"I know. The kids are all waiting for him."

Storm frowned and glanced at the professor. Xavier was concentrating hard, his eyes shut.

"That's strange. It's unlike Logan-"

Scott snorted, and Storm shot him a look.

"He's not the only one who's missed classes lately. Besides, he's done very well so far. The kids love it."

"Of course. He's half animal and grew up who knows where, and somehow has a talent for teaching art. Typical."

"It just shows that you can't underestimate people, Scott."

Scott settled for another snort.

"Logan is still on the grounds," the professor said, his eyes vacant. "He's in the dormitories. He's… talking to a human. A child. Why is there-" Xavier's eyes snapped into focus and he stared at them.

"No. Neither of you know." It was a statement, not a question.

"There's no way any human should be here." Storm's voice was slightly panicked. "Which dormitory? Why would Logan-"

Xavier held up his hand. "Logan doesn't know the boy. He… he caught him… talking to the children. Second floor. The younger girls."

Storm was gone before he had finished speaking.

"Is he under control?" Scott was now in mission mode, and radiated calm.

"If you mean the boy, then yes." He paused and gave Scott a small smile. "If you mean Logan, he is also. As for Storm… well, you may as well go up there, although I don't think she'll do anything rash. As far as I can tell it's really just a child. It doesn't appear dangerous. Do be careful, though."

* * *

Two hours later they all stood in the basement. Peter looked very small and helpless on the bed, and Storm was furious.

"Logan didn't have to hit him." She couldn't contain herself. "Why do you always have to hit? It doesn't solve anything! You could have waited, we were _talking_ to him-"

"Storm, he was hurting me. I'd still have bite marks if I could get bite marks. Which I can't." Logan was truculent as a teenager.

"Since when did you worry about getting hurt? He was a child, we could have knocked him out peacefully-"

"I have him sleeping calmly now." The professor tried to mediate.

"And I doubt you'd have had time." Logan wasn't letting it go. "He would have escaped if I hadn't risked my life and grabbed his foot. And the thanks I get?"

"Logan, _shut up_." Scott had had enough.

"Everyone is tired and short tempered right now," the professor said mildly. "Can we please get on to business?"

Everyone sucked themselves in, and there was silence.

"The boy is indeed human. There is no doubt." Xavier's tone was calm as always, but beneath it he was gleefully excited as a child. He was making discoveries and exploring new territories, and he was enjoying himself.

"Apparently he doesn't age. He's very sure himself that he doesn't, and his memories seem to confirm that. But of course, I can't be sure. It's so very difficult without Jean." He constantly brought Jean into every conversation, and Scott always pretended that it didn't knock him up every time he heard her name.

"Then how can he possibly be human?"

"Well, it's possible that he could just be quite mentally ill. It's very hard to tell in children. In fact, it's rather hard to identify in anyone. "

"Mentally ill?" Logan was confused out of his sulk. "How would he become a mutant by being mentally ill?"

"Ah, yes." Xavier settled happily in his chair, and launched into full professor mode. "It can be a natural effect of some mental illness. They believe that they can do something that most people cannot, and it's enough to allow their minds to actually do what they think they can. There have been many accounts of full humans exposed to a lot of stress who have begun to show mutant symptoms. Supernatural strength and speed especially. If the child has been badly traumatised or is very ill mentally then he could have triggered in himself dormant mutant abilities."

"But he's not a mutant. You said so right from the start." Scott was beginning to look interested.

"No. He's not. Possibly this is the future of the mutant gene – full humans with the power to develop themselves?"

"Or it could have been the beginning?" Storm asked hopefully. "This could have been how the mutant gene was first developed in humans. We could be seeing a throwback."

"True. That is quite possible. But you cannot rule out the possibility, Storm, that we mutants may not last forever. It's very possible that fully human minds are quite capable of mutant abilities with or without the gene. It's also possible that the gene does nothing but weaken the natural suppression we keep our abilities under. The human mind is a truly amazing instrument, and it's quite possible that it's capable of much more than we have ever discovered."

"He's a mutant mutant." Logan chuckled to himself. No one else laughed.

"So what are we going to do with him?" Scott cut straight to the point.

"The fact is that he may be technically human," Xavier said, "but that's not going to make much difference to him or to the world. They'll just see another mutant, and he'll face the same things each of us here have faced."

"I think we should take him in." Logan was the first to speak. "He's one of us. If we reject him just because he's human then we're as bad as they are. Besides, if he really is human maybe someday he'll prove to people that mutants are actually human too."

Storm sighed. "And he needs our help. He's just a child."

"But wait." Scott held up his hand. "We still don't know how he got here or why. He could be a threat."

"I have examined his memories, and they're entirely innocent," the professor assured them. "He caught a glimpse of Lucy, and he was shocked that there were others like him. He followed her here. He was curious; he didn't mean any harm."

"Well. How long until he wakes?"

"I'll leave him another hour. Where are we going to put him?"

"We're not putting him in the dormitories with the other young ones?" Storm frowned.

"I don't think it would be wise at first. Not until he's settled in."

"What about the downstairs rooms? They're mostly empty at the moment, and they're a little removed from the others."

"But the windows are still boarded."

Logan glanced at her. "That might be a good thing."

"Just at first," Xavier assured her. "Until we get a chance to talk with him."

* * *

The professor sat behind his desk, with Storm on his left and Scott on his right. Scott was hard faced and unreadable; Storm leaned forward anxiously. Peter sat on the other side of the desk, hovering several feet above his chair.

Peter was thinking very happy thoughts, although they weren't at all kind. His smile was frightening. He was furious, because all his life he had done exactly what he liked, and now he couldn't. Grown ups had never controlled him, but now they were, and he was forced to listen to what they said because he was afraid.

He felt like an ordinary child.

Xavier had met some very strange people, and Peter didn't faze him at all. He clasped his hands in front of him and eyed the boy.

"We realise you have had a rather abrupt introduction to this school," he began. "We apologise for that, but we take our safety and anonymity here very seriously, as you can see. But we have discussed you together, and we would like to extend an invitation to you to stay with us here, as a student of the school."

Peter didn't really listen, but watched his face carefully. So long as his lips were still moving, he seemed to be harmless. But it could take you by surprise – one moment he'd be talking perfectly normally and then the next he'd have gone completely still, while his voice carried on and on inside your head. It didn't seem to be something you could do much about, but at least if you kept your eyes on him you knew when it was happening.

"We think we could do a lot for you, and there is very much that you could benefit from this opportunity. We're not going to make you stay. No one here has ever been forced to stay against his or her will."

Peter glared. "You couldn't force me. No one can make me do anything."

"But we would very much like you to stay, if you wish to."

"Well, I don't. The lost boys are waiting for me."

"The lost boys are welcome too. You might find they want to come. They've been in Neverland a long time." The professor was smooth and persuasive, and his tone was very reasonable.

"But it's Neverland. They don't care how long it's been when they don't grow up. You don't understand because you're already too old."

"I understand far more than you think I do."

"You don't. I thought you might but you don't. You only think you do because you've forgotten what it's like."

It was a stalemate. Storm leaned forward.

"We've helped many, many children just like you, Peter. Won't you let us help you?"

He sat in silence. He was giving them a scornful pirate look, which involved imagining how just he'd kill them, and it took a lot of concentration. Storm tried again.

"What about your family? They'll be worried about you, Peter."

"I don't have a family." His scowl would have been intimidating to most people, but it was a common enough sight at the institute when the topic of families came up. She didn't comment.

"That's why we're here - for kids like you. We can be your family."

"I don't need a family."

"Everyone needs a family, Peter."

"Well, I don't!" He sprung to his feet and pointed at his chest. "Me, I need no one. I will never grow up. I will never need a family, and I will never need your help."

"That's all crap!" Suddenly Scott was on his feet, yelling. "Someday you're going to have to face it! No one can stay a kid forever. You sit there smirking like you're the king of the world, and really you're a coward. A limp, wet coward. You go on being afraid to face life because you might get hurt. You go on cowering in your corner and ignoring all your responsibilities to the world. But it's not going to help you, you hear me? No matter what you are, you can't escape your humanity!"

"Scott-" Storm touched his arm softly, but her tone was firm. "He's a child. He's tired. Just leave it."

"No. Listen to me." He shook her off, but he lowered his voice. "You're never going to want to hear this, but sometime you're going to have to. You go on telling yourself you'll never grow up, and one of these days you'll wake up and find that your life is over and you've never lived it. You can't hide from pain. You have to face it and deal with it, or it's just going to kill you inside."

"I don't believe you!" Peter jerked upright and hovered above them, his head nearly bumping the ceiling. His face was pink with fury. "You're just saying that because you've lost your chance and you can't even remember how to be happy. You've got too old. You think it's the only way. But you're wrong! I don't need anyone else, because me, I'm Peter Pan and I never want to be different. You can't make me grow up. Not you, not anybody. Not even with all your tricks you can't."

The professor sighed.

"We'll give you one day to think about it," he said.

* * *

"I'm sorry about the lock," Storm said as she turned it. "It's not for you, Peter, you know. It's only that this is a school. We have to do this sort of thing, because of the students."

Peter fumed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing at all.

_Inspired by and dedicated to Amita, who actually has been amazingly patient._

* * *

Ororo sat at her window and didn't watch the sun set. She sat and curled her legs under her and her arms around her, and she didn't make herself watch anything. She just sat.

She thought of Jean and she thought of love and she thought of growing up, and she thought that the boy who wouldn't grow up had missed out. She didn't really know why – she had enjoyed being a child, and it was so much _easier_ than being grown up. But children never quite understood, and people fear what they don't understand.

Then she watched the sunset.

The sun was setting slowly and calmly, all serene, and for a moment she hated it. Then she laughed, and she dropped the clouds and stirred them and deepened them, until the sky was all red and gold and dying spectacularly. And she wondered if she was just trying to prove to herself that she wasn't so grown up after all.

Then she made a gap in the clouds so the sun beamed straight through it like a headlight in the rain and made everything it shone on look bright and magical; and she laughed again because she knew she enjoyed that.

* * *

"Peter Pan?"

Peter sat up in bed, and he heard the key turning in his door. A girl's head poked in, and it took him a moment to remember her. "It's Lucy," she whispered, and he remembered that she was the flying girl.

"Hallo," he said, but he was watching the door that she carefully shut behind her. It was now unlocked.

Lucy stood against the door and fingered her nightgown. "I just came because you can fly," she said at last, "and I've never met anyone else who can fly like me. And you're so _good_ at it."

Peter was flattered, and he forgot for a moment about the unlocked door. "I'm the best at it!" he said, but then he added quickly, "I could teach you to fly almost as well."

Lucy beamed and gave a little flying bounce, "Oh, could you? You see, it's very hard for me to learn, because I'm afraid of heights and I don't like flying, but I've tried and tried and I _am_ learning to do it. Only I'm still not very good at it."

"Well, it's easy. I know everything!" Peter grabbed her hands and pulled her into the air, but his mind was working. "It would be much better to be outside, though. This room is so small, we can't do anything."

"Well, come on, then!" Lucy was easily convinced. Then she frowned. "Only the doors are always locked, and all the downstairs windows are boarded up. They aren't fixed yet."

"Well, there's your window." Peter tugged on her hand.

She looked at him doubtfully. "Will we have to jump?"

"No, we'll fly!"

"Will you help me?"

He grinned at her, and pushed her door open. "Don't be scared. I'll look after you."

He slid the window open and lifted them both onto the windowsill. "Ready?"

Lucy peeped downward and pulled back a little. "There might be some downstairs windows that aren't boarded."

Peter glared at her, and forgot to whisper. "You aren't thinking happy thoughts!"

"What do you mean?"

"You've always got to think happy thoughts when you fly. It's what lifts you up. Didn't you know that?"

She shook her head. "Nobody ever told me that. Are you sure it's true?"

"Of course it is. No one can fly without happy thoughts."

"Well, I can. I can't think happy thoughts when I'm flying anyway." She pulled back tugging him back from the windowsill.

"Of course you do. Everyone does." Peter was tired of talking and he was starting to realise that she wouldn't jump herself, so he grabbed her hands and pulled them both out the window.

Lucy gave a half scream, and tried to let go of his hands. He held tight to her, because she definitely was not thinking happy thoughts and he was all that was keeping her in the air. They drifted slowly toward the ground, and after a couple of seconds she calmed down and he felt her lift a little.

"I hate you," she gasped.

He glared and considered letting go. "And I just saved your life!"

"It doesn't count when you're the one who almost killed me," she said, but for some reason she laughed, and he felt her grow lighter. Maybe it was just the shock. He had definitely surprised her.

"Come on, then," he said, pulling her upward. "See, you're thinking happy thoughts! There's no way you can fall, now."

She was looking nervously down, now, so he distracted her. "Here, lie back!"

"I can't!"

"Yes you can. Just lie back and imagine you're flat on your bed. Imagine you're floating on the ocean."

"I can't swim." The girl was useless. She was trying, but she was scared again.

"It's glorious," he said impatiently. "You just stretch out, and the water just holds you up, and the waves lift you up and down but they don't tip you. It's just like that."

He pulled her higher and higher, until the school looked tiny beneath them.

"I've never been this high before." She was looking down, but she was relaxed now, and floating flat by herself. "I can see everything!"

He gave a crow of triumph. "There. You're flying properly now. I told you I could do it."

She gave him a funny sideways look. "It's only because it doesn't feel real anymore. Maybe I'm dreaming."

"If you were asleep you would fall like the fattest of pirates." Peter was smug.

"No I wouldn't. Sometimes when I have nightmares I lift the whole bed up."

"See, I thought so." Peter nodded. "It's because of the fairydust."

"I don't have fairydust-"

"You do," Peter said authoritatively. "You must be related to a fairy, which is why you can fly. You have fairydust but you don't have wings, so maybe you're half fairy."

"That's crazy," Lucy argued. "It's because I have resistance to gravity. I can lift all sorts of things that I touch."

Peter said nothing, but he looked very smug and wise and knows-better-ish, which he was good at.

Lucy pulled her hand from his and moved a couple of metres away from him without even moving her feet. She didn't seem to notice.

"You're a silly boy," she said. "How old are you, anyway? I bet I'm older."

Peter had been thinking all along about taking her to Neverland, but now he wasn't sure. He didn't know if she'd make a very good mother.

"Lets go down, now," he said.

She was instantly nervous again. "Will you hold my hand?"

"If you want me to. I can catch you if you fall, anyway."

She quickly slipped her hand back in his, and he pulled her downward. He flipped right over as they dropped, pulling her with him, and at first she screamed and then laughed breathlessly. She was a very screamy girl.

They landed on top of the institute wall. He let go of her hand and stood still for a moment, and she stared at him suspiciously.

"Aren't you coming back?"

"Nope."

"But why?" She sounded horrified, and in an instant she looked close to tears.

"Because Peter Pan doesn't go to school." He rose into the air, looking smug again.

"But… but won't you at least help me back in?" She looked silly, and he decided that he didn't like her much, but he hated seeing people crying.

"Oh, alright." He grabbed her hand and pulled her straight off the wall, and she screamed again. He didn't think she was screaming because she was scared anymore, though. She seemed to be screaming for fun.

"Lucy!" Suddenly a man was right in front of them, and Peter dropped her hand and bounded straight into the air. She collapsed onto the ground.

"Cyclops!"

"What are you doing out here? Boy! Get on the ground now!" His hand hovered near his glasses.

Peter skipped backward, but he didn't run. He never ran away. "Why should I?"

"Because it will be best for you if you do. Because I don't want to see you hurt." He was very threatening, but Peter was in familiar territory now.

"Ha. You want me on the ground because you can't fly and I can, and you can't do anything to me up here. You're too old and heavy to fly." He flipped in the air just to rub his taunt in.

"Peter!" Lucy was crying, collapsed in a little lump on the grass. "Don't. You'll die, Peter Pan."

Peter gave a snort of disgust, but he began to drift upward. He did it very slowly, partly so he could see what the man would do, and partly because he didn't want to look like he was running away.

"The world has become a very dangerous place for mutants, Peter," Cyclops said. Peter was already quite far away, and he had to raise his voice to be heard.

"I'm not a mutant."

"No, you're not. But when other humans look at you, they'll see a mutant. They won't understand you, Peter, and people fear what they don't understand."

Peter did a handspring in the air that turned into a dive and a swoop above their heads. "It doesn't matter. I've told you, I can look after myself. I don't need your mutants, or your humans. I don't need anybody!" And he accelerated fast, shooting straight up into the sky, and in a couple of seconds he was gone from sight.

* * *

Scott took Lucy back to bed; then he went back into the garden to finish his cigarette. He hadn't used to smoke: Jean told him that she'd rather smell him than cigarette, and if his teeth turned yellow she'd never kiss him again. So he'd quit, and he hadn't really missed it much.

He liked smoking, though. He liked the gentle rhythm of it: the deep breaths and gentle motions; the way the little ember grew and died as he took a pull; the way the smoke curled lazily from the tip. He didn't much care what he smoked, he just liked the motion of it.

He wondered if he should feel guilty about letting the boy go? He could have done more to stop him. Storm would probably be upset, and the professor too, because neither of them could bear to let a problem leave them unfixed. But the boy had a choice too, didn't he? And he had clearly made his choice, too. The kid had a lot of nerve, plus an amazing amount of stubborn willpower. He hadn't given an inch no matter what anyone said, and Scott respected that.

And it wasn't really surprising. There was nothing keeping him at the institute, after all. No friends, no family; nothing he cared for; no debts or sense of gratitude. He had his family back in his fantasy world, and he had freedom to roam the earth wherever he liked. No responsibilities and no regrets.

What would that feel like? To be utterly free. Was he ever lonely? Did he ever lie wherever he slept at night and long for a family? Maybe he had no one and needed no one. Maybe he was content with just himself and his own company.

Maybe that was what it meant to never grow up.

Scott ground his cigarette against a pillar and carefully pocketed it. He never left the stubs around – none of the students were allowed to smoke, and any stubs found on the grounds caused a national inquiry.

He stood for a long moment and watched the sky. It would be so easy to just fly away like the boy. Just to go and never hurt again over anyone else.

But Scott had grown up. He turned and went back inside.

* * *

High in the sky a boy was turning somersaults through the clouds. His jacket flopped over his head, and the wind filling it tugged him backward, but he hardly paused, just sliding right out of it. Another roll, and his heavy jeans followed the jacket, drifting down through the sky. The only mark of the Institute left on him was his blue polyester underwear.

Then he was off, laughing crazily at the world. The wind was sharply cold against his thin, bare arms and the stars were bright and waved to him as he passed and the world was green and quiet and dull as ever. Little houses were lit up underneath him and he was so high they just looked like toys. He could almost just reach down and grab one to take home for the boys. Second to the right and straight on till morning. Oh, and wouldn't they have missed him! And think of the faces of whoever woke in the morning to find his clothes outside their window! Just as if they had fallen from the sky. He laughed aloud at the thought.

It had all been a grand adventure.


End file.
